Caging the Darkness Within
by MetaLucario
Summary: Show me the way back to being who I was, I don't want to be this way. My newfound powers scare me. I know that I am meant to save the world, but this time I wasn't powerful enough. It's quite the opposite case now. I don't want to repeat my ancestors' mistakes
1. Chapter 1

Full summary: "Show me the way back to being who I was, I don't want to be this way. My newfound powers scare me. I know that I am meant to save the world, but this time I wasn't powerful enough. It's quite the opposite case now. I don't want to repeat my ancestors' mistakes, and I know I don't want to be the second hero of my title to fall from grace. It was so tempting, came to easily, one breath of that power was so intoxicating that I found myself wanting more, and more. I couldn't stop. Not even when Miraak was finally defeated." The story of a fallen hero who is given another chance. There is a problem, however. The one who helped her reach back to the ground is the very being who started this whole mess that caused her life to spiral down into the hole that consumed her.

A/N: I started playing the new DragonBorn DLC finished it and kept thinking of how every character that I talked to kept telling my character that they would wind up just like Miraak if they tried to defeat him. The way Hermaeus Mora seems so possessive over the dragonborn in particular caught my attention, so I wondered about the possibility that it would truly happen.

. Also I have been listening to the song "Give Me A Sign" by Breaking Benjamin, and the plotline of this fic-idea kind of was a bit too influenced by the storyline/meaning of the song. I will, as usual, have Alduin as a major component to the story, as he doesn't seem to get as much attention on the site as he really should. I have noticed that most people like to write about the companions, personally not my favorite faction, but most people like them: I will not write about them merely because I don't carry a particular fondness for werewolves. Too furry.

By the way, for once the character is not an elf; even though I normally do like to have my protagonists be pointy-eared and fair it didn't fit the character I wanted to make for this fic idea. She will be a Breton this time around, and a mage.

I stood on the edge of a tremendous dream. The sky over my head was lit by the soft pinkish light of an eternal sunset, the lavender hills faded nicely into the sloped horizon. A flower slowly crept up the trunk of a nearby elm, tickling the bark slowly as it reached for the dying sunlight. The pale white blossom stretched its petals out towards me, leafy green vines outstretched to embrace my arms gently. That never managed to happen.

The light of the sun was gone, only darkness remained. An arrow shot from a certain bow had guaranteed that the atrocious star would never show its burning face again. The sky was a deep pitch, but I saw perfectly. Vampirism tends to have that effect. The flower shriveled and caught flame. Nothing remained but ash. The hills shot out violently, becoming large jagged mountains. The grass darkened and grew large, scythe-like spines. People frantically ran into their respective houses. Doors were barred. Windows were covered in rusted nails. People kept crossbows under their pillows. Not that it helped them any. Their houses were incinerated instantly. Not even a cinder remained of the wood. The townsfolk huddled in fear. I couldn't help but laugh, it amused me so, seeing them standing in a desperate huddle, as though they could offer one another protection. Harkon's ex-family descended on them in frenzy. I stayed back, this being a dream and all. The crazed rush of hungry vampires was a remarkable sight: they attacked the innocents relentlessly, spattered blood and gore on the streets, tore limbs apart, and devastated the once beautiful village.

A familiar voice was heard over the din and clatter of the feast. A deep voice I recognized easily. I pictured the smug bastard smirking behind that gods-awful mask that he never took off. He rushed at me with his sword drawn, but was quickly impaled on a large slimy mass of dark flesh. The surrounding life- or what was left of it that is- was coated in the grotesque limbs. This time through the mask fell of as he dissolved. Light brown hair fell across a pale, long face. Eyes the color of dying embers glared harshly at me from the dying face, as his hand reached forward slowly. His eyes softened, and the hand landed softy on my cheek, mouth opened to utter what could only be a warning of some sort. I never heard what he was saying, not that I wanted to listen anyway. As his mouth opened, the same tentacles that sprouted up so suddenly earlier slid up around my torso, possessively caressing my shoulder. Another familiar deep voice clashed with the other, but I could not hear what was said. Suddenly Miraak was a mere pile of ash, his warning naught but a drift of the wind.

Something wound its way tighter around my torso. I realized in shock that the limb that was squeezing me so much wasn't even a tentacle as I had originally thought. This was not Herma-Mora gloating over his recent victory. No, this was something I'd feared in the deep recesses of my mind, for to long. The only possible end to my new way of living. I was _sooo_ used to the pain of my new life. I enjoyed it. It was all I was aloud to feel anymore. Now I was overtaken with my own fear, but hiding it well. I was good at hiding things, had to be with the kind of life that I lead. A thief, an assassin, a vampire lord, I even hid my name and title from those I loved back when they were still alive. I hid everything my whole life. My own husband never truly knew who I was. Poor Cicero never knew his listener's name. Even Astrid didn't know her killer's name. Not even Balgruuf or Lydia knew. Neither did Serana, Harkon, and Arngeir nor … well anyone. No one really knew. I pushed them away when they asked. Only one creature knew and now he was back from … My train of thought was lost as he squeezed around tighter.

"Eerresira," that voice, so familiar, whispered harshly into her ear. It was still only a dream. I would not be fazed. Dreams weren't real. I wouldn't let it get to me. I ignored the familiar being as it whispered familiar promises. I Feigned as if I didn't care when he reassured me that he was really there. I waited through the promise of rescue. I was too broken for rescue to do any good for me. I knew that. Hermaeus had seen to that. Stupid daedra always had to win didn't he? Apparently, someone wanted to beat him anyway. Or possibly two beings were competing to beat him. The voice kept sounding in my ear. I couldn't bring myself to care. I was trapped in Apcrypha anyway. I was relatively safe there: physically, not mentally, but still safe. Safe from death. That was what I cared about. The desire to leave hadn't kicked in. I was happy enough with the wide book selection not to be able to bring myself hate the daedric prince that held me. Not yet anyway. I might change my mind later. I simply stopped paying attention. I couldn't care anyway. I even said so outloud, he didn't stop talking though. I lost count and track of all the languages spoken in the conversation. I forgot which he was speaking in, and never noticed when he changed between the different tongues. I began to laugh manaically as I felt my dream world fading back to my semi-conscious state.

I could feel my body leaning heavily against a wall of books, but I was still trapped inside of my mind, as I had been for the past three months. My spectral form walked calmly through the darkened halls of my psyche. My own laughter echoed off the wall in a sinister manner, and my footsteps faltered. The intensity of my cackle increased, reaching an eerily unnatural decibel as it chased the rushing drafts to the far end of the corridor. My consciousness faded entirely into my head as I felt the light touch of a hand grazing my shoulder from within my dream.

"It happened again didn't it? The dream? We aren't ever going to escape you know. It's your own fault; I warned you this would happen." The owner of the hand spoke, the depth of his voice deceptively soothing, despite his dark tone.

"You are the one who started this damned mess you know." My voice sounded calmer, yet darker than his.

"You and I both know I am not the one who started this, I was merely a pawn in the plan. As you are now." His tone grew weary, and angry at the same time. Both emotions clashed for dominance.

"First Dragonborn… humph. Only reason anyone thought of you at all was because of damnable that title. Alduin thought you would be weaker because of your physical form. He told me he only kept you around because of who you were, and that he still didn't trust you. You're the one who pissed him off so bad as to bring this upon us both. And then, after betraying him you run to the daedra, expecting an easy escape. You brought this upon yourself, as did I. Just because you were created first doesn't make you better than me you know. He told me that I have even more of the dovah blood than you do, Miraak"

"As long as we are both trapped here we may as well work through this… little sister."

Dun dun dun….

A/N: well this is interesting… I honestly had no idea where I planned on going with this rate and review.I have low enough self esteem with out flaming, trolling, or any other form of extreme negativity. Constructive critism is fine though…


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: heyyy, new chapter. Not sure where to go with this, but I have tons of ideas. This chapter will get into character backgrounds, so hang on if it gets slow. It will get interesting later on, I promise.

All rights belong to Bethesda studios, not me. If I own it, Alduin would not have died at the end of the main quest, Lucien would be alive, and Cicero would be immune to damage…

"We are never getting out of this one… I hope you happen to enjoy eternal suffering dragonborn."

"Only if it happens to be yours, Miraak. I thought I said to go bother someone else." I sat there banging my head against a wall in anguish.

"It's your subconscious, who else could I possibly talk to? And don't even think about bringing Mirmulnir into this, I am not talking to any of the dov again." He was the only person I knew who could sound so damn arrogant, as he sat poking at me with a stick he conjured from the depths of my own mind. How the void did he do that anyway?

"What does that make us, elves? For sithis' sake you lily-livered half-wit, grow a damned brain already! And leave me the void alone! I can't think of escape with you sitting their berating me for things I had no control over!" And as I said it I gave him my absolute dirtiest glare, shooting bound axes at him with my eyes. It had its desired effect. I remembered Alduin telling me once that I reminded him of himself when I made that face. I didn't know how to respond to that, and merely thanked him. I mean, by oblivion and the void, it isn't every day a dragon gives you a compliment! And Alduin isn't just an ordinary dragon; no he's the damned world-eater. By the eight, I had not been expecting that at all. He laughed at me when I thanked him, making some comment about me finally learning some manners… I muttered a curse half audibly, and he had smirked through the mass of ebony scales. I didn't believe it was normal for sworn enemies to tease each other, so I asked him about it. He merely chuckled and asked if I really thought of him as my enemy. He laughed again, this time at my flustered confusion. That laugh sounded through my whole head, a dark, possessive sounding cackle that rung out and made my hair stand on end. I sat and listened to the deep tones of his voice in my head. That was so long ago, but it felt as though I was there once again. Miraak's words from earlier echoed back at me. "we are never getting out of here." _Ever,ever, ever…never. _Ifelt the stupid liquidflow down my face. I cursed at Mora in every language I knew. Damned rain falling every time I grew upset. Of all the possible forms of torture…

I felt someone shaking me, and not gently. Looked sideways at that damned mask and cursed. Loudly.

"As much as I appreciate the weather changing, you had better calm down. And what was with that memory? I can't believe you actually put up with that." He tried to act bored, but failed. He really only looked confused. I focused deep in my mind to pull up an image of Cicero, an enlarged image of Cicero, holding a knife to Miraak's throat, muttering about stabbing and murder. Miraak was utterly unfazed… by the knife. Cicero was another matter entirely.

"Who is that fool? I do not appreciate his insistence on pressing so close. Make him leave." I could have sworn that even his mask was frowning with annoyance… after all I've seen it would not be even the slightest of a shock. I felt myself growing bored of his complaints. They were all I seemed to have heard recently, no outside communication. No contact with the world outside this constrictive little prison. I caught myself wondering if this was how Alduin felt, when he was trapped between time and space, imprisoned in the sheer nothingness the scroll had shipped him off to. At least he didn't have this damned nuisance pestering him the whole time… or would he have enjoyed the company, despite personal differences. Looking at the man in front of me I could almost see the resemblance, their mannerisms and personalities were rather similar. Now that I was thinking about it, it all came into place… they were the same underneath, its why they could not coexist peacefully; both of them wanted more power, and they struggled to grasp just a tad more. And I was different. I was made differently, for fear of the same outcome. I learned at a young age that in trying to control every aspect of ones life it is possible to restrict it, it may fight until eventually, somewhere along the way it would slip out like smoke between the fingers of the grip tightly strangling it. . That was the difference; I knew patience and humility. That was why I could handle their rampant desires to be the dominant. I was as powerful as they both were, but, I was willing to choose one side and stay true to my own choice as long as I was not violently provoked towards other initiative. I knew the sting to well personally to have the desire to cause another to bear that empty shallow whole that will not be filled or mended, merely hardened towards others wanting to push them away for fear of a repeat, for another dull void that eats its way through body, mind, and soul causing shear agony and rage that will never be silenced again as long as life remains in the same shell of the being who feels it. It is more than any should have to bear, yet everyone must. I have accepted this…

"How did you get to where you are? I know how I got dragged into this eternal struggle, but how about you, why did you go through so much trouble for a being like him? What made you fall into this same path of damnation?" Miraak's tone held the true epitome of a curiosity. He truly wanted to know, to understand.

"I will tell; on one condition." I look for his affirmative nod to be certain he is listening. I so terribly want to see what he looks like under the damned thing; is it like he appeared in that dream of his death, or was he a corpse underneath, like some of the others I'd met? Or was he different entirely? I saw no tail when he turned, and his voice did not rasp, but he always wore robes, and training and age could easily smooth his vocals; for all I knew he could've been kajit. "Take off the mask, for the entire time while I'm telling you my life story keep it off. I want to see what you look like."

For a second he hesitated. His hand reached, quivering beneath his gloves, towards his face. It wavered there a bit before he found the edge of the hard metal, deftly maneuvered his fingers underneath the cold hard plating of the enchanted means to hide his face. He pried the thing off of his face, slowly, carefully. I blanched for a second, drawing a blank, for this was the last thing I had expected. I sat there and stared, taking in every last detail.

_ They even look similar on the outside_ was the only coherent thought. He sat there with long ebony locks trailing down his neck, clinging to his cheekbones and shoulder. His skin was pale, pale as the dead rotted flesh of the nightmother's bare arms, pale as the snow that fell so abundantly in the tundras of Skyrim. Even the eyes, glaring sharp ruby-crimson, like so much blood spilt on a field of battle. The edges of his thin mandible outlined thickly against the soft flesh of his neck, through wich I could see the subtle pulsing of a translucent strand of blue. Upon reaching inspection of that particular section of his body, I had to resist the urge, trapping my fangs inside the small sockets placed to keep them tucked away whilst hiding. I was in a dream, I couldn't feed here. Besides, he was dead, the pulse wasn't real he was simply trying to elicit a reaction, one he wasn't going to get.

I opened my mouth, ready to begin the story when I felt something slimy crawling up along the exposed skin on my arm, leaving trails of slippery goo.

"You have a visitor in the outside. Normally I would force them to leave, but under the threat of long drawn out war, I decided to allot them a one hour visit. Come, they are rather impatient." Before I could even protest I was whisked off harshly, and dropped into my body. I felt around the stacks of books massed throughout the room, relishing in the feel of the hard leather, and soft pages. Even the smell of age, the sweet rusty scent, brought on by the musty old paper was a welcomed familiarity. I felt a hand on my back, soft and familiar.

"We need to talk, but not here. I will get you out of here, dragonborn, if it takes a full-fledged war of the daedra to get it. That would be splendid though, wouldn't it? Until the cheese ran out of course…"

You ask if it's necessary, and I say of course. Who could have a good skyrim fanfic without old Sheogorath…


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: And sitting here, right after lunch, still in my pajamas (which consist of black yoga pants, and a t-shirt for some odd reason) I grew intolerably bored, and decided to make a new chapter. Looks like I was right when I said I would update soon. May be a while before I do so again though: end of the year testing, and now I'm starting to watch vampire knight, I've got my largest art project all year, and I'm gonna spend my whole summer (almost anyway) out of town… yay … Not.

Anyway, this is the last chapter of this story; sorry it is not the one I planned upon finishing today, but I lack the inspiration for that story at the moment. I know what I want done, but not how I want to go about doing it. Therefore, I will finish this one, as I know exactly where I am going with it; however, I may add one more chapter after this if I don't have enough room for what I wish to accomplish within this one, but it will be a part two of this chapter(therefore the same chapter). And now you may be confused, so I will stop rambling and get on with the plot. Lyra is my editor today…

Miraak sat there confused. Apparently, the younger dragonborn had enough time to leave a recording of memories behind for him to watch while she was dragged away by Mora… He was both curious and apprehensive of what he would find within her memory, and sat debating with himself about the proper course of actions. Eventually his curiosity won out and he peered into the swarm of thought and sense, and waited as it dragged him inside of its self….

I was shocked to discover that Sheogorath had found a way to sneak my off to the shivering isles without Hermaes Mora noting anything to be amiss. Then again, said prince of madness was the most powerful daedra aside from Jyggalag of course. And he had help from Boethiah, which guaranteed success. I sat on the steps of the dementia side of the throne room, the dark purples and blues quite calming despite the cacophony of oranges that were so bright I could actually hear them as they numbed my eyeballs. Great, I was mad enough to be here all right, what with the thought of hearing color… that was entirely outrageous. I waited for Sheogorath to summon that monotonous pile of boring that always followed his orders, and began attempting to shout said pile of boring into a pile of ash. My behavior elicited a humored laugh from the now fully relaxed madgod.

"Now, down to business, I've found something interesting that may relieve you of that boring slimeball's care, or was it slimy boreball? I simply don't remember…" Haskill cleared his throat to encourage the point. Sheogorath continued his explanation. "I have found a way to bring back deities that have been banished in battle," he began, I perked up, fully aware of where he was going with this. Unlike my dream-self I wanted to see apocrypha burn, and see the world outside of the oblivion realms once again. I sat and listened to uncle Sheo's plan.

Miraak was uncertain of his current location, he seemed to be in a wagon with his arms bound so tightly that he couldn't feel the ends of his fingers. He discovered that he could not control his movements in the slightest when his head lifted of its own accord, and refused to lower back down. He noticed three other nords in the carriage, but payed them no heed, until one asked him of his name. He felt his jaws move, and a familiar, female voice drifted out from lips he knew now were not his. He could feel it as she explained to the man that she had none. He sat in her body, not the slightest bit concerned until he heard the word execution. She was being sent to her death. But why? She got off the carriage with the others, and though Miraak could not see her face through her eyes, he could feel that she wasn't wearing her half mask or hood. Come to think of it, he'd never seen her without it… What did she look like? The man announced her race as breton, while he asked of her name, so at least he knew that she must have a round face, and pale skin. That wasn't much to go off of, but it was something. He watched a man all but throw himself onto the chopping block, and was beginning to wonder why this memory could be of any importance what so ever, when he heard it. That sound he knew so well. And he knew already, that this wasn't a mere elder dragon, or a wild dov searching for a challenge. Some person asked about the origins of the sound, and if he could Miraak would have snorted in contempt at the fool. As it was he just walked forward in her body and watched the scene play out. Of all the things he could have imagined, Miraak would never have guessed that the last dovahkiin's first memory would be of the World-Eater himself saving her life. He began to understand her, if only in the slightest.

I sat there, waiting for Sheogorath to return with the proper ingredients, and noticed somrthing to be amiss. I saw a shadow, out of the corner of my eye, and when I turned around, I noticed a portal. I hit the throne with the wabbajack as he had instructed me to do should anything happen. As I awaited whatever was about to happen, I noticed a familiar aura around me.

"Drem yol lok, dovakiin." I almost could not believe my ears…

Miraak was beginning to get accustomed to the feel of the memories. He relaxed within the confines of the thoughts of her past, easing the process tremendously. If that first memory was a shock, then the rest were jolts of instant deathly lightening, as he watched through her initiation as an assassin of Sithis. He could feel the passion when she kissed the little jester that was so fond of following her around. He felt her pain as she was betrayed by one she called sister. He wasn't shocked when she ran off after the incident was over. Nor was he shocked at all when he saw who it was she went running to.

"I told you that you would come crawling back, and now here you are. It would seem the mal saviik was daniik, doomed to watch the brit, the beauty of this world wither around her, like the rot it has become? Dreh fin dovakiin, dreh hiu hind him heyv lost neh hiu… that is do you wish that your duty was not yours to bear? Or do you mean to ask of my advice?" Miraak shuddered along with the last, but for a different reason. Hers was some deep-rooted conflict between the two beings that coexisted within her mind; between her two split heritages that battled still for dominance. Miraaks was at a memory of his own that was triggered by the tone in the first-born's voice had taken. The memories of what had become of himself due to a similar situation, so many years before. He understood the conflict between the mortal body, and dragon soul. He knew her true nature was slowly picking away at her from the inside. But one thing was different. She did not fight back. She stood there and confided her whole story about the brotherhood, about Cicero, about Astrid's betrayal, about her retaliation. The strangest part came next when the dov laid the enormity of ebony scaled tail across her shoulders in a way that was oddly comforting. Miraak wished he could shudder beneath the encasing of her body, wished he could heave up the content of his stomach, and run far from here. This was what he got for asking about her past, it would seem. He could feel the currants of thought in her mind at the moment. Her real mind, not the memory. Something had her flooded with an absolute blissful ecstasy, but the moment he attempted to discover what he felt the memories tighten around him forcively, as though she was consciously preventing him from discovering just what that thing was.

Memories spiraled around him. Memories of murders, thievery, training with a group of pacifistic monks. He could feel the rage when they refused to allow her to speak to their leader, and the recognition of the leaders name shocked Miraak immensely. Upon hearing the name spoken it appeared the young Breton had fled strait back to the same creature she went to about , she understood that his name was in _their _language, and ran to Alduin to question as to who it was. Upon his explanation she began to seethe noticeably. Again the calming embrace of her shoulders to balm her emotions enough for her to bear them without struggle. Again the reassurance that she could avenge him as much as she wished, that she could harm Parthurnax beyond recognition if it made her feel even slightly better. Miraak realized that she was already falling, before she had even begun the climb. More memories. She ran off and refused to speak to Alduin for two weeks, over an argument. The blades recruited her, she went to Kynesgrove, and it was over. He took her again, this time easily. She was already desperate for his approval; she wanted to see him, that's why she came. The blade was impaled on a shiv from the mines of Markarth, and the breton began to get ever more violent with her killings. She delved deeper into destruction magic, gained the trust of the greybeards, but all the time she was merely doing his bidding. She finally realized what was happening, and began to fight back, searching out an Elder-scroll, learning the shout that those three had created so long ago. He watched fascinated by the scene, as he had not been present when Gormlaith died, nor when the Bane-of-Kings was banished to the in between realms of time and space. He could feel her fear when Alduin showed up, unexpected and angry. He wallowed in her despaired disappointment when the hate filled shout refused to leave her lips. She said the words, but they had no effect. He heard the victorious laughter coming from the ebony mass of pure destructive force as she fell to the ground in exhaustion and defeat. He attempted once more to shudder when the dov wrapped his tail around her shoulders once more, this time possessive, not protective and comforting. He felt the flood of self-disgust when she realized that the urge to lean into the embrace was still instinctual, even after all the trouble she had gone through. He felt the acceptance when every inch of her refused to pull away and only leaned closer. He felt the absolute surrender, the defeat, as she let him take her completely, let her mind fill with the sound of his voice, so utterly hypnotic and soothing. And he felt her say the words that ended her struggle, and brought the dovah out in full. He saw the gloating look that Alduin shot to his younger brother, the message 'I win' written so plainly across his smug face as she sat there, losing everything. At the very last second Miraak saw the little elf that had been following her around, the won that she had saved from his own fall, the one who had taken the Eye of Magnus, and attempted to take everything. He had the scroll, Ancano was repeating the words that sent the World-Eater into banishment the first time. He was attempting to right his past wrongs, in that one heroic act. The dragonborn rushed out with her sword unsheathed, and stabbed it clean through the altmers spine, but it was too late.

Now the memories were frantic. She created a name for herself to go by, so as not to share her true name with anyone. She joined a house of royal vampires and attempted to find a way to cause enough destruction to warrant the quick return of the world-eater. She completed an ancient prophecy that caused the light of day to disappear, took over the family after overthrowing the leaders. She Killed the high queen, as well as a new emperor. She led the Thalmor into victories. The memories of battles with himself, the hatred spawned from her past bent towards him. Miraak saw his own body fall, watched it disintegrate, and felt his soul absorb into her body. Her felt her smirk with a strange morose pleasure, and he withered in disgust. He felt the memories unravel as they came to an end, and discovered himself to be someplace utterly unfamiliar, but he knew the voices he heard, and what they were saying. He saw his flesh melding back together around him, felt his soul return to his own skin, felt his muscles growing back where they were before. He then looked up, confused as to what was happening, but he saw one thing that finally made perfect sense. He saw her, and he knew who it was from the armor that he now knew to be nightingale. He saw her hood drawn back, and the mask pulled down. He blanched in shock. She looked exactly like…

"Is he alive bormah?" I looked up hopefully, but I expecting the worst.

"Why don't you ask the traitor himself that? I think he can answer that question himself." The dark dragon spoke, and I eagerly turned to do as he suggested, stopping to find Miraak already standing. His eyes were clouded with fear, confusion, and understanding. He knew then. Good, that was one last thing to explain. As it was, I merely punched him in the gut, for a reason I did not understand, and held him there in my arms. I wasn't planning on letting go.

"Is he alive bormah?" That explained everything. Miraak hadn't understood before when he had called her sister, he believed he meant it figuratively. The dragon soul inside him had known all along, it had been trying to tell him this whole time, he just hadn't been listening. That was why … it all made sense. He could hear Alduin tell her to check for herself, so he stood, and waited for her to arrive. He calmly looked at her, uncertain why this was happening, and afraid of what would come of it, but in that moment he felt it no longer mattered. Until that unexpected impact in his stomach sent him sprawling to the ground, completely out of breath. He could feel her arms around him, holding his torso in a tight embrace, and he proceeded to use her weight to flip her onto her back, and pin her down. She flipped him onto his side, but not before his hands reached the target. She stood cupping her ear, a playful grin masking her pale face, and her long ebony locks flew out as she charged headfirst, knocking into him, and unexpectedly, knocking him into Alduin. To Miraak's further surprise the world destroying menace was in his human form, and was in a very cheery mood. Miraak understood now, why they were there. He did not regret, but he knew now that given the chance, he would not go back to change a thing

A/N: Bormah means father btw. Figure it will help the plot if people understand the ending. And One big, highly dysfunctional family went off to destroy apocrypha. The end.


End file.
